


Yarn Theory

by Jellyfax



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Sweaters, Family Feels, Fluff, M/M, T'hy'la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellyfax/pseuds/Jellyfax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost Christmas and the Enterprise is about to lose their favourite Vulcan. Can the crew convince him to stay, and will the Captain and his First Officer finally tell each other how they feel?</p><p>With ugly Christmas sweaters, bad wrapping, life support on the blink, one very fed up CMO and a lot of pining, what could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yarn Theory

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has taken me an age to write! It started off as a couple of Tumblr messages with the lovely Helen, and it sort of morphed into a monstrosity that was then hacked down into two fic, this being the first (and significantly lighter hearted) of the two. 
> 
> Thanks super loads to my beta, Kira, whose comments made me laugh an awful lot, to museattack for putting up with my pestering, and I hope you all enjoy this! Especially Helen and Emelie, who this was written for!
> 
> Merry Christmas!

Scotty was not having a good day. For some reason, completely unknown to the chief engineer, the life support systems were utterly shot. The temperature was stuck at a bracing eight degrees centigrade, and any attempts to heat up the cabins caused the air conditioning to turn on and return the entire ship to its not-so-customary eight degrees. This meant that even the hardiest of crewmembers were rushing around in thermals and not-entirely-regulation polo necks and jackets.

When he had told the Captain, Kirk had laughed and told him that at least it was festive.

Scotty grumbled as he ducked under another pipe. You could always trust Kirk to be so lighthearted about it all! He wasn't the one who had to fix it. That being said, at least the Captain seemed genuinely cheerful. That hadn't exactly been a common occurrence of late and it was having a profound effect on the crew as a whole. Particularly his First Officer, who was completely oblivious as to why the Captain sighed the way he did, or why he let his face fall as soon as he thought the Vulcan wasn't looking.

It wasn't exactly common knowledge, but to those who knew Jim well it was as plain as the nose on his face. Jim had been in love with Spock for a good few years. The engineer didn't know when it had started, but it was hard to miss the fleeting glances, and the secret smiles that Kirk reserved solely for Spock. Unfortunately, the Vulcan was not the most socially adept being in the galaxy, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He hadn't even realised that he had broken Uhura's heart the day he had told her that it " _would be more efficient if their association was to return to that of colleagues_ ".

Scotty shook his head. Well, what was one man's loss was another man's gain. He hadn't meant it to, but the shoulder to cry on had become a confidante, who had become a close friend, and then something more. However, that still left one oblivious Vulcan and one lovesick Captain for the entire crew to deal with.

Scotty flipped his communicator open."Engineering to bridge."

"Bridge, Sulu here. What can I do for you Mister Scott?" came the tinny reply.

Scotty sighed, scrubbing a hand over the stubble that was growing on his chin. "When you see the Captain, tell him I've had no luck. We're in for a chilly one, Mister Sulu. Scott out."

 

* * *

  
Sulu switched off the comm and chewed his lip thoughtfully. He spun around in his chair, glancing about the room. Chekov was frowning at a star chart next to him, his curls falling over his eyes as he pored over it. Janice had just come out of the turbolift, a small bundle of PADDs in hand, and was making her way over to Uhura who was sat at her station typing on her own PADD, her brow creased with concentration.

The bridge had become a little more solemn of late. Kirk tried to keep things as lively as possible, particularly around this time of year, but there was only so much he could do when his own spirits were as low as every other heartsick soul during the holidays.

"How are we all today?" the Captain said, swanning onto the bridge.

He was wearing a thick, black polo neck sweater adorned with the captain's colours, striped on the shoulders. His smile was large and warm, but it didn't quite reach his eyes as they drifted over to his science officer's empty station.

Sulu got up from his station and walked up to the Captain.

"Captain,” he said as offhandedly as possible. “Mister Scott reported earlier that despite extensive repairs, and hours of work, Engineering is still no closer to solving the climate control issues."

Kirk was silent for a moment. Sulu swallowed nervously, the issue had gone from barely noticable to down right uncomfortable over the past week, but still there was nothing engineering could do about it. The Captain smiled good-naturedly and turned to the rest of the bridge.

"Well then, it looks like it's thermals and extra sweaters all round! If anybody has an embarrassing Christmas sweater please, please wear it! God knows we all need cheering up!"

There was a murmer of amusement that rippled accross the bridge as everyone went back to work. Kirk's eyes flickered over to the science station once again, his brow furrowing.

"Where's Spock?"

 

* * *

  
Spock sat in his quarters, his eyes closed and his legs folded for meditation. He wasn't, however, meditating.

He hadn't been able to meditate properly for nearly two years.

He wriggled his toes in a vain attempt to adjust his position to something a little more comfortable. It seemed no matter where he sat, there was always a niggling itch, something that stopped him from finding peace to sift through his thoughts and filter his emotions out. Something bothering him that he couldn't quite place. It must have been the temperature. It was only logical. The Vulcan was accustomed to the cooler temperatures favoured by Humans, but even the Humans were uncomfortable with the ship's meagre eight degrees centigrade, and Spock was finding that he was having trouble repressing the shaking in his hands when he was at his station, and the constant rerouting of blood supply to his extremities in order for them to function adequately was, frankly, tiring.

He shivered again and opened his eyes.

Every time he closed them he saw the lights flashing blue and red. He felt the anger burning inside of him and the feeling of his fist against Khan's face. He had never lost control like that, only after his mother had died, and even then Kirk had deliberately provoked him.

His thoughts were interripted by a shrill beeping, followed by the silky tones of Lieutennant Uhura's voice.

"Incoming transmition for you, Commander. It's from New Vulcan."

Spock's brow furrowed imperceptibly as he got to his feet. "Patch it through Lieutennant."

The vid screen flickered into life and the image of his father's face appeared, solemn and unreadable as ever.

"Father." Spock said as he made his way towards his desk.

"Spock. It is good to see you." Sarek replied. "I apologise if this seems ... blunt, but this is a matter of grave importance."

Spock nodded briefly. His father returned the gesture.

"Am I correct in assuming that you are no longer involved in a romantic engagement with Lieutenant Uhura?"

"You are. Our relationship was terminated one month, three days and seven hours ago."

Sarek nodded again, slowly. "Then it is my duty as council representative, and as your father, to request that you return to New Vulcan as soon as possible in order to participate in a bonding ceremony."

Spock stilled. "May I enquire as to why?"

Sarek quirked a brow. "You may, son. It is to further our efforts to rebuild our race through marriage and procreation."

"It is logical." Spock replied resolutely.

"You seem troubled. Have you become involved with another? Was my assumption premature?"

"No, Father, it was not. I just..." Spock hesitated.

The Enterprise was far more like a home than the planet that had been deemed a suitable replacement for the one he grew up, however the days events had shown him that people neither wanted nor needed him aboard. His mother had always said "home is where the heart is", he had always thought that to be an odd expression, and one that he had never been able to place. As a Vulcan he had been brought up to put aside emotions and embrace rational thought, but his Human nature had always bled through, no matter how hard he tried. And yet, as true as that was, he never fit in with Humans either. He was considered cold and unfeeling, and even when he had been romantically involved with Nyota it never felt natural. It was as though he were missing something, never connecting on an emotional level, always distant. He was a child of two worlds, neither one nor the other, always stuck in the middle. Maybe it was time to choose a side.

He took a deep breath and continued. "...it is of no consequence. I shall resign as soon as it is convenient."

His father nodded. "I shall begin to make arrangements."

 

* * *

  
Jim yawned and scrubbed a hand over his face, his gaze drifting to the glittery decorations that had popped up over the past few days. He felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He had always loved Christmas, even though he never really got to celebrate it all that much. Winona had always tried her best to be on Earth for Christmas, and always made a big deal of it when she was, but sometimes he and Sam spent it alone, just the two of them.

He looked at the crew around him. This was more like it. It didn't matter that most people were a hundred lightyears from their homes, the Enterprise was family, and that was what mattered. Jim knew the name of every crew member, and each of them mattered to him, even if they didn't always see eye to eye. Jim smiled to himself, he had planned a whole day of activities for Christmas day; non-denominational Winter celebrations that the entire crew could enjoy. Even Spock would have to join in, and frankly, the idea of the Vulcan singing carols and pulling crackers was too good an opportunity to pass up.

His eyes skimmed up the long frame of his first officer, drinking in the lines of his body. He was slim, his skin pale and his features sharp and angular. On a human it would have looked harsh, on Spock it looked mesmerising. Jim wasn't a stranger to attractive faces, but there was something about the way Spock carried himself that set him aside from the rest. He was intelligent, not your average kind of intelligent, the kind that Jim had ever come accross before, and you could see it in his bearing, and the depths of his dark eyes. He was Vulcan, so his emotions ran deep, kept hidden as was the Vulcan way, yet he lit up whenever there was anything new to discover, whipping out his tricorder and poring over his data for hours on end. Jim could watch him work for hours. Although, sometimes his Vulcan tendencies, particularly when it came to emotions, could be trying but-

Spock shuddered.

This was something new.

"Everything okay Commander?" the Captain asked tentatively.

Spock didn't turn around. For a few moments Jim wasn't certain if he was going to acknowledge his question at all. Until the Vulcan let out a quiet breath.

"I am perfectly adequate, Captain." he replied but the slight shake in his voice betrayed him.

Kirk paused, his eyebrows furrowing, "Spock, are you ... cold?"

Spock stiffened, "As I have already said, I am perfectly adequate."

The captain's frown deepened. "Sure. And Commander, see me after the end of this shift."

As the shift came to a close there was a quiet moment as the alpha shift was slowly replaced by their beta counterparts. Kirk made his way over to Spock's station.

"Commander, are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" He said quietly.

The Vulcan shifted uncomfortably, remaining quiet for a moment. When he spoke his gaze remained fixed on the screen in front of him. "Captain, I would like to submit a formal request to return to New Vulcan on a permanent basis."

The colour drained from Kirk's face. "Sure, Spock. Can I ask why?"

"Since I am no longer in a relationship, my Father has expressed his desire to have me return to New Vulcan and help to rebuild our race."

"I see." Jim said, swallowing thickly. "I understand. That's important."

Spock hesitated again before turning to face his captain, glancing over his captain's face but never quite meeting his eyes. "I ... I believe it is my duty."

Kirk's eyes flitted from Spock's eyes to his lips and back up again, trying desperately to read anything. He was certain this was not what the Vulcan wanted, and yet he was finding it difficult to see the truth in his dark eyes. The pain settling in his chest was growing exponentially. This was it. He was finally losing him.

"Of course, commander. I'll ... I'll get on that paperwork as soon as I can. When we've finished our business on Capella IV, we'll make sure to get you back to New Vulcan."

His voice sounded choked, small and pitiful in his ears. He turned and stepped into the turbolift before the Vulcan could say any more, the blood pounding in his ears, and a hot, heartbreak searing accross his chest. Merry Christmas.

 

* * *

  
The next day the Rec room was sombre. McCoy was sat looking thoughtfully into an empty glass, Chekov sat next to him flicking through papers on his PADD.

Sulu took a look around the room before sitting down next to Chekov, eyeing up the bowl of Christmas chocolate sat in the middle of the table. He fished a caramel filled one from the bowl in front of him and began to unwrap it. As he let the caramel melt on his tongue Uhura walked in. He swallowed the chocolate quickly and beckoned her over.

"Uhura, what's up? Yesterday it was all tinsel and carols, today it's like somebody died." He paused, paling a little. "Nobody died, right?"

"No." She replied. "But we got a transmission from New Vucan yesterday. Spock has asked to be relieved of his position so that he can return to there to help rebuild his race."

Chekov's eyebrows shot up. "Spock is going back to New Vulcan? Permanently?"

Snorting, Sulu popped another chocolate into his mouth, and chewed on it thoughtfully. "Apparently he is going back to get hitched and make babies. Doesn't sound so bad really."

McCoy frowned and dragged the bowl away from the navigator. "Except for the fact that Jim is so damned head over heels for the hobgoblin. Can you imagine what he is going to be like if he has to watch him get married to some random Vulcan woman? And at Christmas time to boot."

Sulu paled again. "I hadn't thought about it like that."

"Yeah, no kidding." Bones said, rolling his eyes and helping himself to a confiscated chocolate.

"We have to do something." Sulu muttered quietly.

Pavel nodded resolutely. "But how?"

"This ship is like one big dysfunctional family, but Spock just doesn't seem to get that he's a part of this too." Sulu muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Chekov nodded again. "You can say that more than once."

Sulu rolled his eyes. Maybe teaching the kid English idioms hadn't been the best idea.

"We need to find something to let Spock know that he is as much a part of this family as anyone else, and maybe see what we can do about him and the Captain. Losing Spock would be like losing a limb, I don't want to see what that does to him. Not to mention that Spock seems to think that none of us notice the way he looks at Kirk when he works."

Chekov shivered. The cold was even getting to him, and cold was sort of what Russians did best. Then again, the Russians had vodka to warm their bellies, and every year his Babushka used to knit him a cardigan that was so big it would last him throughout his growth spurt that year, keeping him warm for the entire winter.

He paused, then turned to Sulu, grinning. "I think I may have an idea."

 

* * *

  
Chekov arranged for his next four shifts to be covered before locking himself in his quarters. He replicated a ball of thick wool and two large knitting needles, and set to work.

 

* * *

  
Spock was drifting again, wading through a haze of semiconsciousness. Once again his attempts at meditation were turning up fruitless. Every time he closed his eyes his mind was filled with brilliant cerulean and clear, bright laughter. He didn't know what it meant, but his mind was fixated on it. It had only become worse since his father's call, as though there were something his subconscious was trying to tell him.

There was a chime at Spock's door.

The Vulcan cracked an eye open and sighed. "Enter."

The door swished open and stood outside his door, much to Spock's surprise, was Chekhov. The young Ensign was chewing his lip nervously and had an oddly shaped bundle under one arm, wrapped in what looked like brown paper and string.

"Commander Spock." he said, holding the lumpy parcel out in front of him. "This is for you."

Spock looked at the parcel curiously, turning it over in his hands before unwrapping it, taking care not to tear the paper. Inside was an awkwardly knitted red cardigan. He held it out in front of him, face stony and contemplative.

Chekov returned to chewing his lip. "I did not know your measurements, but since knitting was invented in Russia I thought that it would help, at least until Mister Scott can get the climate control back online."

Turning it over in his hands he traced his fingers over the curves of the small pearlescent white buttons that ran down the front of the garment. "What exactly is it?"

The Ensign flushed a dark pink, "It is a cardigan. I am not exactly good at knitting, but my Babushka taught me how to make a few things. A cardigan was one of them."

Spock rubbed the soft material between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the threads delicately over his digits. "You made this ... by hand?"

Chekov nodded.

"Why did you not simply replicate one?"

The young Russian's face fell slightly. "My apologies, Commander, I thought it would be appropriate. I was mistaken."

Spock regarded the deflated young man for a moment, before returning his attentions to the lumpy cardigan in his hands.

"It is true that it’s not in the slightest in keeping with Starfleet regulated uniform. However, do not mistake my curiosity for ungratefulness, Ensign, I just do not quite understand why you would put the time and effort into making me such a gift when it would be far more efficient to simply replicate one that would be the correct dimensions for me."  
Chekov visibly brightened at this, and Spock noted his distinct resemblance to the Terran puppies that his Mother used to gush over when he was a small child.

"Commander, this time of the year is special to Terran people. Gifts are common, to show appreciation and love to friends and family. Handmade gifts are more personal. It would not mean as much if I had replicated it."

Spock frowned at the parcel again. The emotions he was struggling to quell were confusing indeed.

"This is a human thing, the giving of ... personal gifts?" he asked, his voice low and softer than before.

"Yes, sir." the young Ensign replied warmly. "If you do not like it, I can replicate one that will fit you better."

Looking back at the expectant boy again Spock shook his head. It was a very human gesture, but given the circumstances he deemed it appropriate. "No, thank you Ensign. This is very ... thoughtful."

"It was my pleasure." he said, beaming. "Now I must return to my shift."

With that he walked back down the corridor and towards the turbolift, leaving a bemused Spock standing in his doorway, an oversized cardigan held limply in his hands.

 

* * *

  
The cardigan really did make a difference. The sleeves were too long, slipping down over his hands periodically, and the shape was a little distorted but wearing it made Spock feel very strange. He had never been given a gift like this before. His mother had insisted on celebrating the day of his birth every year but she very rarely made anything by hand. The whole thing had seemed illogical, but it made his mother happy, so he went along with it. This, however, was different. People rarely bought him anything, let alone made him a personalised item of clothing.

He was fairly certain that Terran social custom required him to wear the garment at least once in public, and since the whole debacle made him feel very curious, Spock decided to wear it to Alpha Shift, and get it over and done with.

He fiddled with the buttons as the turbolift slowed to a stop. The bridge fell silent as he stepped out and walked over to his station.

"Spock?"

Spock felt an unusual rush of warmth seeping through the cracks in his defences. There was a touch of genuine humour in Jim's voice that no one on the ship had heard in a very long time. The sensation was uncomfortable, unfamiliar. The Vulcan tried to clasp his hands behind his back but found the sleeves slipping down below his wrists. He shifted slightly, pushing the sleeves up as best he could.

"Yes, Captain."

When he looked up the Captain was smiling. This wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence, but what was unusual was the way the light spread to his eyes, bright and clear and completely unadulterated.

"What are you wearing?" he said.

Spock tugged at the sleeves again, self-consciously. "Ensign Chekov has informed me that it is called a cardigan."

Adopting Spock's customary expression, the Captain raised a brow.

Sulu appeared from behind Jim, placing a hand on his shoulder and grinning broadly.

"Pavel knitted it himself. He thought Commander Spock would benefit from having a few more layers, but I have to say, I wasn't expecting him to actually wear it!"

Jim felt a small laugh bubble to the surface. It caught him a little by surprise and he found himself laughing out loud. Spock, however, felt his brow furrowing very slightly.

"I do not understand what you are implying, Lieutenant."

Sulu faltered, "I only meant that you are very by the book, and that isn't exactly regulation uniform."

The Vulcan straightened the front of the woollen clothing, aligning the wonky buttons as best he could. "In addition to the fact that a minor break in regulation regarding uniform could vastly improve my work output and efficiency, Ensign Chekov explained to me that it was a handmade gift and that great time and effort was put into creating it. Therefore it would have been socially unacceptable for me to decline the gift."

Kirk’s other brow joined the first at this comment, but he chose to remain silent, only nodding and returning to his chair.

 

* * *

  
The entire crew found Spock in his oddly shaped, red cardigan amusing. In fact, it was still amusing the second, third, and fourth shifts he wore it. It was only after the fifth that people stopped giggling amongst themselves. There were whispers and small, fond smiles, and as Chekov looked around the bridge, observing the whole spectacle, he began to smile himself.

"You did good." Sulu said quietly, giving him a surreptitious wink.

 

* * *

  
Kirk sat in the chair, hands steepled in contemplation. Spock was still at his station, his ridiculous sweater rolled up just above his wrists. He felt a twinge of embarrassment watching his First Officer work, but it was overwhelmed by a feeling of warmth and contentment. Spock shifted slightly, tugging gently on the collar of the sweater.

Kirk waited until almost everyone had left before approaching him. He walked over to the science station, leaning over his Vulcan officer.

"Spock, you've been wearing that thing every day since you got it. Why are you really wearing it?"

Spock cocked his head to one side a fraction, his voice as monotonous as ever. "I don't understand your question, Captain."

"I mean, it's not like you to be conscious of social faux pas, and even according to our so-called social customs you've been wearing it a lot. So there must be another reason."

"I ..." Spock began, but he found himself faltering. He couldn't lie. Vulcans couldn't lie, but they could twist the truth to suit their needs. And yet he had an unusual inclination to tell his Captain everything. "I have never been given a gift like this. Something handmade. I was not sure how to react, but I find myself puzzled by my sudden attachment to this piece of clothing. It is no warmer than another piece of clothing that I could replace it with, neither is it better quality or of a particularly favourable style. Yet I find myself wanting to wear it. This is ... curious."

Kirk's face broke into a smile. "That's an emotion called gratitude. I'm sure you'll have felt it before."

The Vulcan pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Indeed, but not quite to this extent. I also still find myself puzzled as to why the Ensign would give me a gift of this kind."

"Spock, we've been away from home for a very long time, and we've got even longer ahead of us. Even after all of that, some of us don't really have homes to go back to." he paused, looking at Spock in a way that left a sick feeling settling in the Vulcan's stomach, "This crew is all we have. We're family. Family give each other gifts and make each other cardigans."

For a moment Spock's expression flickered from blank to bemused, "Ensign Chekov considers me a part of his family?"

Kirk's expression was softer than Spock had seen in years as he placed a hand on his arm, "We all do, we just haven't managed to get that through to you yet."

Even after the Captain had walked away, Spock could still feel the warmth that his hand had left on his skin.

 

* * *

  
"Do you think that was enough to convince Spock to stay?" Chekov asked in the rec room that night.

Sulu hummed, musing as he chewed on his chunk of replicated beef. "He definitely seems different. Maybe that was enough?"

"No." Uhura said, pushing her food around the plate distractedly.

Chekov leaned forward. "What makes you say that?"

She sighed and ran a hand over her face. "We had another incoming transmition from New Vulcan last night, if anything had changed, it would have happened last night. Kirk still seems as down as ever, I think he's still going."

Chekov wilted a little. Sulu placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Any more ideas, Whizzkid?"

 

* * *

  
The next parcel to arrive on Spock's doorstep was much smaller than the first, but wrapped in the same string and brown paper. He sat down, legs folded, and began to unwrap the smaller parcel as carefully as he had done before. Inside were two pieces of matching red wool, although he was uncertain as to exactly what they were. As he separated them a slip of paper fell out onto his lap. Placing the wool items carefully at his side he unfolded the paper. It was strange for someone to have not just sent him a message via his PADD, but then this whole debacle was strange to the Vulcan. On the paper was the word "Mittens" and a crudely drawn image of a pair of hands.

Frowning, Spock placed his hands inside the mittens. The sensation was even stranger than the cardigan. The wool enveloped four of his fingers in one pouch while leaving a separate pouch for his thumb. Frustratingly, he found himself incapable of doing anything while wearing them. They did, however, cause him to feel very peculiar. His hands, once incredibly cold due to the broken climate control, were now warming up in the soft mittens. The material itself provided a sensory overload for his Vulcan fingers. It became very difficult to concentrate with the material brushing his digits with even the slightest movement. It was very much like a feeling of calm washing over him. He suddenly felt very exhausted, as though he could fall asleep right there, and he had an incredibly illogical need to curl up into a foetal ball. It was a very stupid concept, and far too Human for Spock to comprehend.

 

* * *

  
Spock was late for his shift. He wasn't just a couple of minutes late, which would have been worrying enough, he was half an hour late.

Jim gave Sulu the conn and stalked down to Spock's quarters.

He pressed the intercom outside his First Officer's quarters. There was no answer. He pressed it again, still no answer. This time Jim beat his fist against the door.

"Spock, open up! Spock!" He paused, listening for any movement from inside.

The door was silent.

"Spock, you haven't contacted the labs or the bridge. If you are preparing for ... for your wedding or whatever, you could have at least let me know so that I could appoint you a replacement!"

The door remained silent.

Having gone from irritated to plain panicky, Kirk punched his override code into the keypad to his right. The door whooshed open.

Jim stopped dead in his tracks, all anger and worry draining from him. Curled up on the floor in front of him was Spock, wrapped up in Chekov's cardigan, his arms held protectively to his chest. The Captain knelt beside him. His chest was rising and falling slowly and he appeared to be wearing a matching pair of mittens. All anger completely dissipated, Jim felt a fond smile tug at his lips. He had never seen Spock asleep before, he had always imagined him sleeping stock still and straight on his bed, like something out of an ancient vampire film, not curled up like a child on the floor. There was a deep ache somewhere in his chest, an itch to reach out and stroke the bangs from Spock's head. There was a strange kind of innocence in the Vulcan's slumbering expression. Sleep softened the sharp lines of his face making him seem younger, as though he had never lost his mother, or his planet, or watched his Captain die.

Jim sighed, returning his hand to his side. He would take up his missing shift with the Vulcan when he woke up, but for now, whatever sleep Spock could get he was more than welcome to.

 

* * *

  
Spock woke groggily. At first he wasn't entirely sure where he was. He was warm, in a way that he wasn't sure he had ever been before. He blinked his eyes a few times, clearing his vision as much as possible. Beside him was a pile of creased brown paper. He frowned, propping himself up on his elbow. He was in his quarters. The last thing he could remember was opening his gift from Chekov and ...

Everything after that was a little hazy. Frowning, he looked down at his hands. The mittens were still there, snug around his long, slender fingers. He felt sluggish, as though he were wading through treacle. Glancing at the clock on his desk, he started. It read 1500 hours. It had been 2300 hours when he had last checked the clock.

In a way most unbecoming of a Vulcan, Spock scrabbled to get dressed, pulling on his uniform as quickly as possible and making his way to the bridge.

“My apologies, I …”

He stopped as he exited the turbolift. Kirk was looking at him, a small smile playing across his face.

“Mr Spock, there is no need to apologise. I covered your shift, since you were … unwell.” he said, a glint in his eyes.

Spock inclined his head, “That was very … thoughtful of you, Captain. Thank you.”

“No problem, Commander. If you ever need time off again to … recuperate, or anything, all you have to do is ask.” Kirk replied.

He nodded again, a strange warmth spreading over him.

 

* * *

 

  
Capella IV was warm and bright, a nice change from the sub-optimal temperatures of the Enterprise. The Capellans were tall and slender, their tight-fitting robes brightly coloured and billowing in the hot, dry wind. Kirk had to oversee some diplomatic relations over topaline mining contracts, so the rest of the crew were left to explore the city.

The city was sprawling, hundreds of towering sandstone buildings casting long, cool shadows over the dusty ground. Spock wandered through the streets, a wistful look on his face. This planet reminded him of Vulcan, a little cooler and a little greener, but just as bright and dusty. He used to walk amongst the rocks and scrub with I-Chaya by his side for hours on end, until his feet were sore and his throat was parched. His mother used to scold him, but his father understood his need for solitude. He had been a lonely child, never fitting in, never feeling a part of anything. Now it was different, his fellow crewmembers were more than collegues, more than friends; they were his family as well. And he was about to leave it all behind, to return to the place where he had been hated and tortured by his own people. Where he would never again see that bright smile or those blue eyes that kindled such emotions in his chest.

He wandered through the marketplace, passing stalls covered in patchwork awning, filled with meats and sprigs of hanging herbs; green, purple, red and orange. There were stalls of books and trinkets, all manner of shapes and sizes, metal bound and glass, glinting in the afternoon light. Swathes of silks and cotton-like materials in cardinal red, chartreuse, saffron, teal and deep aubergine draped over the sides of the stalls.

"See anything you like?" Came a voice from behind him.

He turned around to see Uhura reaching out to admire a blue dress.

"I was merely browsing." Spock replied.

"Were you looking for anything particular?" she said, running her hand through a silken scarf.

Spock paused, gaze fixed on a spot in the mid-distance. "I was ... I was thinking that I might purchase something for my wife."

Uhura shot him a pointed look. "Spock, you can't be seriously thinking of going through with this."

"I am not merely thinking, Nyota, there are plans set. My father has been holding talks with the remaining Elders to find a suitable mate for me." He replied cooly.

"This isn't you! You aren't going to be happy to be stuck on New Vulcan when there is still so much Universe to explore!"

A passing Capellan turned and frowned at the raised voices, her tall hair piled up on her head in an alarming manner.

Spock merely raised a brow. "I have been informed that once my wife and I have borne two children, I may return to Starfleet, should I wish to."

"But what about Kirk."

Spock frowned. "What about the Captain?"

"Spock, are you seriously trying to bullshit me right now? I know the real reason we broke up, and it had nothing to do with the work environment!"

Spock was silent for a moment, before Uhura continued.

"You realised that you loved me, but not as much as you loved him."

"I do not understand what you are implying."

"I'm not _implying_ anything. After Khan ... Spock, you weren't even that emotional after your mother died! Something changed in you after that... you know that as well as I do."

"I still do not understand."

Uhura threw her arms up exasperatedly. "Work it out yourself, Spock, and do it before it's too late, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

With that, she walked away.

Spock stood silently for a moment, watching her as she went. The warm, dry wind was making the brightly coloured fabrics ripple and sway, and the scent of spices travel from the opposite end of the market. Spock closed his eyes and took a deep breath in.

Was he making the right choice, or would he regret this for the rest of his life?

 

* * *

  
Despite Jim's adamant claims that the cooler temperature made the ship feel more "festive", Scotty finally managed to get the climate controls fixed, two days before Christmas.

After leaving orbit of Capella IV the ship got back to normal. The crew no longer felt the need to wear their thermals and sweaters, although someone had been going around the Enterprise with tinsel, much to Scotty’s chagrin. The Captain said nothing about it except that whoever had been doing it had excellent taste in tinsel.

Spock was relieved that he no longer felt the permanent chill that had become an uncomfortable part of his daily routine. It did, however, take away any excuse he had for wearing Chekov’s gifts. Despite their odd, ill-fitting shapes Spock had begun to grow fond of them. He found the colour aesthetically pleasing; the material, although bobbling from continued use, was soft and seemed to warm him both outside and in. This was a strange sensation that Spock was not familiar with. Jim had called it gratitude, but the Vulcan thought otherwise. Gratitude for great deeds was known to span decades. For example, his own counterpart was indebted to the Captain for whatever his universe’s Kirk had done for him, even years after his death and through a parallel universe. However, gratitude for something as small as a gifted garment was not logical.

What he was feeling was something that tightened his chest and sent a warm ache thudding through him. It felt very familiar to how he once felt when visiting his mother. Perhaps Kirk had been right when he had said that the crew thought of him as family.

Shaking his head, Spock returned to his readings. Poring over facts and figures was a welcome distraction from the churning in his head, not to mention far easier to understand.

 

* * *

  
Sulu was sat in the rec room, frowning at a star map.

Chekov glanced over at him before turning back to his own PADD. After a few minutes, he heard a frustrated sigh and the metallic clang of a PADD hitting the table. Chekov glanced over again to see Sulu, his head in his hands.

“Hikaru, you seem troubled.”

He looked up at the young Russian, sighing again and scrubbing his face with his hands.

“We’re still set on a course for New Vulcan.” He explained, “Spock obviously still wants to leave. I'm just worried that we're not going to get to him in time. I don't want to think about what that'll do to the Captain. We need to find a way to get through to him."

Two slender arms rested on the table in front of them, leaning over to talk in hushed tones. “Have either of you actually tried talking to him?”

Raising a brow Sulu looked at Uhura incredulously. “Have you?”

Nyota was flustered for a moment, her cheeks flushing dark. “No, but I … I mean we …”

Sulu placed his hand on her arm, “It’s okay, I get it. It’s not exactly your place to go talking to your ex-boyfriend, and it’s not my place to ask you to.”

The lieutenant relaxed visibly and sat down next to Sulu.

“So what else can we do?” she said, quietly.

“You three can stop scheming with your wool and your knitting needles,” came a southern drawl from behind them. “Jim’s got this one.”

All three spun around to see McCoy standing there, his arms folded and an eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, doctor.” Chekov muttered.

Uhura frowned, “What do you mean Jim’s got this one?”

Smirking, the doctor swung a chair around and sat down next to her.

“I mean, the Captain has got the hobgoblin a present himself. Nothing special, mind, but it’s something. Finally.”

Uhura's eyes widened. "You mean ... he's actually going to ... you know ... tell him?"

"Woah there, don't get ahead of yourself. This is Jim, he is still just as emotionally constipated as he always was, he is just ... branching out a bit."

Chekov furrowed his brow. "I do not understand. If the Captain likes Mister Spock so much, why does he not just tell him? He is not shy."

McCoy sighed and kneaded the bridge of his nose. "That's the point. He likes that Vulcan too much. He's head over heels in love with him, and when Jim falls, he falls hard. It's not just a case of jumping in the sack this time. He wants to show him how he feels."

Sulu chewed his lip thoughtfully. "So what has he got planned then?"

McCoy slapped Sulu on the shoulder. "Wait and see, kid. Wait and see."

 

* * *

  
Bones was right, Jim had it sorted. Or at least, he kind of had it sorted. He had a plan.

The first step was a Christmas gift. There had been a change in him since Chekov had presented him with the sweater and the mittens. It was subtle, but it was there. Maybe it was some kind of acknowledgement of how the crew really felt about him. Because as stony and cold as the Vulcan could be, everyone knew that there wasn’t a single thing that he wouldn’t do for the sake of the Enterprise and her crew.

So there he was, standing outside of his First Officer’s quarters with an early Christmas present in his hands. He had wrapped it the way his mom used to wrap the presents when he and Sam were kids. The paper was shiny and colourful and held together with clear sticky tape and an equally shiny ribbon. It was sort of lumpy, and asymmetric, but Jim wasn’t exactly proficient at present wrapping, and there was no rigid shape, and no corners to work around. He shifted from one leg to the other before pressing the buzzer for Spock’s room.

 

* * *

  
"I have found you a suitable mate. Her name is T'Larr. She had good family, is a graduate of the Vulcan Science Academy, aesthetically pleasing, and I believe she will be adequate for you." Sarek said.

Spock nodded. This was the third call from his father since their agreement. Every time the call came through he felt the weight of his decision grow heavier in his chest. He swallowed thickly, once the woman had been contacted, his fate was sealed. He could not back out for fear it would forever besmirch his and his father's name.

"Spock." His father interjected. "My son. Despite the great importance of the task I have given you, I am still your father and your wellbeing is still paramount. Will this solution make you unhappy?"

The younger Vulcan was quiet for a moment. "I do not believe that my happiness should be at all paramount in this instance. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

"Or the one." Sarek nodded. "That was my thinking. However I believe it would be disrespectful to your mother not to ask about your emotional wellbeing."

Spock looked up at his father. It was not physically possible, but since his mother's death it was as though he had aged a decade. The dark circles sat permanently under his eyes, and the lines around his face had become more pronounced. He had always told Spock that he married his mother because it was logical. After her death he had revealed that he had in fact married her because he fell in love. Seeing him now convinced Spock of the fact that his father and his mother had loved each other very much.

There was a chime at the door. Spock frowned, he wasn't expecting anyone.

"My apologies, father, it appears my attention is required elsewhere."

Sarek nodded. "Of course. I shall contact you again soon."

The vid screen flickered and switched off, the room seeming suddenly darker. Spock sighed and made his way towards the door. It opened with a swish, and standing outside was Kirk. His hair was ruffled and he had an oddly nervous smile on his face.

“Captain?” he said, puzzled.

"Hey, Spock.” the Captain replied, chewing his lip. “Look, I know that you don't celebrate Terran holidays, but since you might be leaving us soon, I … I thought I'd get you a little something."

Kirk handed him a brightly coloured parcel. The paper was shiny and purple with a large, silver gift-bow in the corner. Spock took it silently, turning it over in his hands and pulling at the clear tape that stuck the paper down. He frowned as some of the glossy, purple colour came off with a plasticky tear. He didn't need to look up to know that Jim was smiling.

Under the brightly coloured paper was a bundle of thick, coarse material. It was a dark green colour stitched with red stripes and zig zags, and small white stags. He held it out in front of him and considered the design for a moment.

"They're reindeer." Jim interjected, "I didn't make it, but the ugly Christmas sweater is kind of a Human tradition."

He traced the pattern of the white deer with his fingers. Humans had such curious rituals.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Jim."

Jim flushed a little, hearing his name from Spock. The Vulcan shook the sweater out and pulled it over his head.

Jim started. "Spock, you don't have to put it on! It's pretty hideous."

Spock tugged the neck of the sweater over his head, catching it on his ears slightly.

"It is a gift. I believe this is customary.” He replied, sliding his arms through the sleeves. “You also seem to have ignored the fact that I wish to wear it."

The whole thing was just a bit too big, the neck pooling under his chin and the sleeves covering the palms of his hands. He looked a little ridiculous, the oversized sweater somehow softening his perpetually stiff demeanour.

Kirk fought the smile tugging at his lips and felt his face heat, colour creeping up his neck. "That's great, Spock. I'm glad you like it."

The Vulcan straightened the front of the sweater out and looked down at it thoughtfully. "I was not expecting a gift, so I am unable to reciprocate as is customary."

"Don't worry, Spock. I wasn't expecting anything." Jim replied, scratching the back of his neck.

Spock considered him for a moment, the silence stretching out awkwardly between them, then nodded, excusing himself and retreating into his room, but not before hearing the quiet sigh from his Captain behind him.

As the door hissed shut again, Spock sat down and crossed his legs. He was just a shade too warm in his new sweater, and it wasn’t as soft as Chekov’s, with thicker, scratchier material that fit him a little snugger. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. Unfortunately there was still something, a niggle in the back of his mind that he couldn't put to rest. He shifted his position a little and settled again, but no sooner than he had adjusted himself he found the need to move again. He had heard his mother once call it "fidgeting". Frustrated, he unfolded his legs and curled them up close to his chest. He tucked his hands into the sleeves, his fingers poking out of the top, gripping the cuffs tightly. He brought the coarse material to his face and took a deep breath.

Vulcans naturally had a far better sense of smell than humans, ordinarily a Vulcan living amongst humans took sense inhibitors to make the human stench more manageable. In this moment Spock was glad he had refused them. The smell was heady, a deep, earthy scent that he couldn't quite place. He felt the tension and the restlessness drain away. He breathed in again and let the scent fill his head. It was incredible. There were warm, spicy hints and a fresh hit of mint and petrichor and something so innately human. It felt out of place in the Vulcan sanctuary he had created for himself. It was strange to find this human smell so comforting but there was something familiar about it. It reminded him of his mother, not as sweet, not as light and floral, but it was still her and home all the same.

He tried not to dwell on that fact as he closed his eyes again and slipped into his fitful meditative state once again.

 

* * *

  
Kirk had been expecting Spock to wear it for the rest of the day. He hadn't expected for him to turn up to Alpha shift still wearing it. He continued to wear it for the rest of the week. The incident with Chekov's cardigan paled in comparison to this.

Kirk glanced over his shoulder to see his first officer was surreptitiously nuzzling the oversized neck of his Christmas sweater. The Captain swallowed thickly and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. It was like his skin was itching from the inside. There was something about that glimpse of vulnerability that he was fairly sure no one was supposed to see that didn't sit right with him. Or rather it sat a little too well with him, and that was what was so worrying.

He tried not to think about how it made him feel. He tried so hard, but it kept coming back to that ache in his chest and the itch to turn around and just watch Spock work. The sweater only made things worse. He had told himself it was stupid. Why was he so hung up on the one person who could never reciprocate his feelings? McCoy had told him to stop mooning and do something, so he had. He had done the only thing that he could think of. Admittedly, it wasn't the most romantic gesture, nor was it particularly transparent, but it was _something._

As predicted Spock had taken the gift gratefully, while completely ignoring the message behind it. Although, if what he had garnered from it was enough to get him to rethink this marriage, then that was enough. Even if he could never be romantically involved, they were still family.

Jim sighed and took one last doleful glance at his first officer.

"Mister Spock, you have the conn."

 

* * *

  
Spock found this sensation confusing.

It had been three days and seven hours since he had received the sweater and its scent was still puzzling him.

He pulled the fabric up to his face, inhaling again. There was something in that smell, some piece of home that he had been missing. It was, as he had deduced at first, a familiar and comforting smell, but there was something else. Something addictive. Something that made his blood boil and his loins ache every time he smelled it. He had not experienced Ponn Farr, but this ache in his gut was much as he imagined it to be. Once again he swallowed thickly, willing his blood to stop pumping so furiously.

However, the more he thought about it, the more blood rushed southwards. Every time he tried to put the garment away, it was like it called to him. He had to get it out again, pulling on over his head, mussing his hair with an audible crackle of static. The smell was intoxicating. Spock rubbed his hands over the coarse material and shuddered. His trousers were tightening, and he was flooded with an urge to touch himself. He hadn’t felt this way since he was in his adolescence. His mother had assured him that for Humans, such desires were perfectly normal, but he had found the whole thing very disturbing. What was more disturbing was that now, long after he had left his adolescence behind him, he would once again be confronted by these desires.

He ground his hand into his groin, rocking into the friction. He was so hot, and he craved it so badly, and each time it was becoming increasingly difficult not to give in. Unfastening his trousers he took his hardened cock in his hand and began to stroke it up and down. It was obscene and filthy and felt so incredible he couldn’t help but let out a strangled breath. He felt himself throb, eager for more as he pumped up and down, his strokes dragging and twisting, bringing himself closer and closer to that teetering edge. The heat was building in his gut, swirling and clenching, white and furious and it felt so good as a last wave of pleasure hit him, sending him into a blistering climax.  
Spock lay there, panting, his hands slick and sticky from the aftermath of his debauchery. Thoughts were swirling in his head, flitting from one explanation to the other, but finding no solution. He was exhausted, sated but mortified. For humans, pleasing oneself sexually was an ordinary occurrence, but Spock had been brought up Vulcan and such actions were most definitely not normal.

He would have to meditate further.

He cleaned himself, getting rid of any evidence of his recent activities, and sat once again in contemplative meditation.

Unfortunately, the longer he spent contemplating, the drowsier he became. His concentration began to slip as the world around him became fuzzy and dark, until he gave in completely, his consciousness bleeding into the beckoning dreams that Vulcans rarely had.

 

* * *

  
Spock pulled the sweater out from under his head, where it had been nestled as he slept. He looked at it, frowning. Perhaps it would be for the best if he stopped wearing the sweater. Things had become increasingly difficult since obtaining the garment. Therefore it was only logical that he should remove the problematic item from the equation.

He folded it neatly into a draw and left it there. Hopefully the Captain would not be too offended by him not wearing it, for the time being at least.

He washed and dressed and, once satisfied that all necessary bodily functions had been seen to, returned to the bridge for his next shift.

 

* * *

  
Spock was seated at his station when the Captain came onto the bridge. He glanced over at his science officer, a little crease forming between his eyebrows, but then the expression was gone, replaced by his customary smile.

The Vulcan found his work output increased by thirty seven percent without the distraction of the sweater, and the shift seemed to pass without much incident. Until the Captain called him over to look over some readings.

“Spock, come and have a look at this will you?” Kirk called over his shoulder.

Spock took his earpiece out and walked over to the central chair.

He leaned over the Captain’s shoulder, looking down at the PADD in his hands. Pursing his lips slightly he blinked a few times. The figures were swimming slightly, and he began to feel heady again.

Spock felt the blood drain from his face. He inhaled deeply. There it was! That scent again. That incredible, dizzying smell. He stared at his Captain in disbelief.

Kirk frowned. "Is there something wrong, Commander?"

Spock repressed an involuntary shudder, his ears and cheeks tinged with green. "No Captain, I apologise, I have some urgent business to attend to in the labs. If you will excuse me."

Kirk stiffened a little at the cold tone. He nodded curtly, his eyes following his First Officer as he walked away.

This was wrong. Of course it was logical that the sweater would smell like the Captain, but that did not mean that his physiological response to the sweater had anything to do with the Captain.

It was irrational to have such desires for him. It was evolutionarily disadvantageous, particularly given the state of his race after the destruction of his planet. Also, the Captain was exactly that, his captain. It was true that he was his friend also, but any more than that and it would be inappropriate. He had thought about his captain before, he was strong willed, highly intelligent, and unfailingly optimistic even in the face of adversity. He had never met anyone, Vulcan or Human, male or female, who was quite like Jim Kirk. He had held him in high regard for some time, possibly even from the first time he had laid eyes upon him. He had cheated, that much was true, but the skill involved in doing so was quite remarkable, and something to be admired, even if his reasons for doing so were less than desirable. Watching the captain develop, growing into his station with every passing day, was nothing short of fascinating. Spock loved to see the way he interracted with other crew members in ways that he himself would never be able to, his eyes following him around the room whenever he wasn't looking. It would not be too much of a stretch to describe what the Vulcan felt towards him as love, but it was fraternal, nothing more. Respectful and appreciative, definitely nothing romantic. This though, this lust that was pumping through his veins, was new. Perhaps he was ill? Some side effect of having spent too long in such cold temperatures?

Spock scrubbed a hand over his face in a vain attempt to banish the thoughts from his mind. A trip to sick bay was in order.

 

* * *

  
Doctor McCoy was leafing through a recent Denobulan medical journal when he heard the door chime. He placed the PADD down with a sigh and turned to see Spock standing in the doorway.

"Hey, Spock. What can I do you for?"

Spock shifted from one foot to another, but stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Come one, man, spit it out. Are you here for your check-up before we get to New Vulcan, or is there something else?" McCoy said,

"I am not certain. I require your opinion on a matter than has been troubling me of late."

McCoy simply raised a brow.

Spock shifted uncomfortably again. "I have been having ... thoughts, feelings ... I cannot explain it easily, only say that they involve ... Jim."

"Jim?"

The Vulcan felt his cheeks heat, and the tips of his ears flush a dark green.

"I am experiencing such strong emotions, and urges-"

Bones held his hands up, screwing up his face in disgust. "Woah there! You don't need to go into detail. Way too much information."

They were both quiet for a time, before the doctor laughed and shook his head. "So you finally realised that you love the guy?"

"It would be illogical for me to have romantic feelings towards the Captain. He is male and has shown previous interest in women wh-"

McCoy threw his arms into the air. "Jesus, Spock! So have you, but you're still all gooey eyed over him. Get your head out of your Vulcan ass and take a look. A _good_ look. Jim is just as _illogically_ in love with you as you are with him. He has been since god knows when and I'm sick to death of you two dancing around each other. It's giving me a headache."

Spock frowned, brow furrowed with confusion. "You believe that I should express my interest in him?"

Laughing, the doctor slapped him on the shoulder. "Yes! Finally!"

"My father has arranged for me to marry T'Larr. I have a duty to my planet and to my people."

McCoy was silent for a moment.

"I can't pretend to understand what you went through, but do you really want to resign yourself, and that poor woman, to a life spent pining for a man you could have loved, but gave up? Because I can tell you what, I went into marriage once, all the best intentions, but I never really loved her, and it ended badly for everyone."

The Vulcan looked at the Human in front of him, studying his face. The lines of concern on his face were as genuine as the lines of age. He really was cared about.

"What should I do?"

 

* * *

  
Kirk swilled the remainder of his bourbon around in his glass. They were so close to New Vulcan now. He was so close to losing Spock, possibly forever. Of course, he had lost people before; acquaintances, colleagues, friends, family, they had all left him. Some had walked out of his life, sometimes for good reason, others without a word. Some had simply died, leaving Jim alone once again. Spock would just be another heartbreak to add to the list. He downed the golden liquid and set the glass down, the warmth of the alcohol settling in his belly. He kneaded the bridge of his nose and screwed up his eyes. Thinking was giving him a headache, or maybe it was just the bourbon.

There was a chime at the door. Jim groaned, getting to his feet. He padded over to the door and pressed the button lazily. To his surprise Spock was stood outside.

Jim shifted, straightening his nightshirt uncomfortably. "Hey Spock, I wasn't expecting you. Shouldn't you be getting ready to ... you know ... get married, or something?"

Spock's eyes fell to the bundle in his hands. "I had something I needed to do first." He said, handing him a meticulously wrapped gift. "I believe it is customary to wish you a Merry Christmas." His voice was calm and still, but there was a tremble in his hands as the present exchanged hands.

"Spock, I ..." Jim faltered as he turned the gift over in his hands.

"It is a small gift. To express my ... gratitude."

Jim tore at the paper, with none of the care and attention that the Vulcan had had for his own gift. Under the paper was a thick, woolen sweater. It was blue with what seemed to be white teddy bears across the chest.

"They are Sehlats." Spock pointed out. "Not customary for the Terran festive holiday, but I believed it to be more appropriate, given that I do not normally celebrate Terran holidays at all."

Jim was quiet, regarding the blue material with particular intent.

"The colour is a favourite of mine, and I ... I thought it would ... suit you."

When Jim looked up, he saw Spock colour, flushing green from his collar bones right up to the tips of his ears. Jim smirked.

"I didn't realise that Vulcans had favourite colours."

Spock's mouth twitched at the corners. "It is true that one colour being more aesthetically pleasing than another provides little practical function. However, I find that particular colour ..."

The sentence trailed off as his eyes met Jim's. It felt like the air had been punched from the captain's lungs. There was something intense in the Vulcan's gaze, dark and burgeoning. Jim swallowed thickly.

"... the colour reminds me of home."

"Thanks." Jim said quietly, his voice hoarse and raspy. "I always thought Vulcan was red and sandy."

Spock's eyes met Jim's again. "I was not referring to Vulcan."

The two men stood looking at each other for a while, before Spock dropped his gaze and turned away silently. Jim's eyes followed him along the corridor and watched after him long after he had gone out of sight.

 

* * *

  
Kirk had run the entire thing over in his head a thousand times as he walked from his quarters to sick bay. Spock had given him a sweater. A personalised Christmas sweater. Vulcan's didn't even celebrate Christmas! Spock had said himself that his mother had rarely managed to convince the two Vulcans in her life to celebrate. Now this.

"Bones?"

"Yeah, Jim, I'm round here." Came a voice from the other room.

Jim wandered through sick bay to Doctor McCoy's office at the back of the room. He tapped on the door lightly.

"So ... er... Spock just gave me a Christmas present."

McCoy looked up from his work to see his captain standing in the doorway, a blue sweater hanging limply from his hands. The doctor smirked and raised a brow, turning back to his PADD.

"Hmm? Really."

Jim frowned. "Did you know about this?"

Bones looked up again. "He just needed a little nudge."

"He got me a sweater."

"I can see that." He replied with a wry smile.

Jim stared at the doctor incredulously. Bones sighed and put the PADD down, spinning his chair round to face his captain.

"Why did you get him a sweater?" He said, raising a brow. Jim remained silent. McCoy sighed again. "I told him to let you know how he felt about you."

"But I gave him that because I wanted to ..." Jim's eyes widened, his mouth falling slack as it dawned on him. "Spock ... Spock has feelings for me?"

"Jesus kid, of course he does! The whole ship knows, and we're sick of you two mooning over each other. It's Christmas tomorrow, do us all a favour; go and grab some mistletoe and get this thing over with before we get to New Vulcan and he buggers off with some pointy she-goblin, and you spend the rest of your life as a miserable old sod."

* * *

  
Sulu loved his little garden. His mother had been very traditional and had brought all of her children up with the knowledge of how to properly tend a garden. When he was around his plants, Sulu felt at home. He poured some water into the tub of a Capellan flower he had collected while they were planetside, gently running a finger over its silky, purple petals.

There was a chime at the door. It swished open and Kirk stepped inside.

Sulu put the watering can down and shot Kirk a smile. "Hey, Captain. Anything I can help you with?"

Jim scratched the back of his neck. "Actually, I have a favour to ask."

 

* * *

  
McCoy hadn't meant it literally, but Jim had grinned and run off to see Sulu. Kirk liked to joke about Sulu and his plants, but he was damn glad of them now as he stepped out onto the bridge, sprig of Mistletoe in hand.

"Captain on the bridge." Came the thickly accented voice from the navigation terminal. Jim smiled at the Russian, waving the mistletoe at him. Chekov gaped, tapping Sulu on the shoulder. Sulu spun round, saw Jim and grinned, shooting him a double thumbs up.

When he got to Uhura she got up from her station, smiled softly, a mixture of wistful sadness and fondness in her eyes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Good luck, Captain."

Jim swallowed thickly as he approached his science officer. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood up straight, chest out and shoulders back. He could do this. He had to. "Commander."

The Vulcan turned around, looking Jim up and down. "Captain?"

"Would you mind accompanying me for a moment." Spock nodded, taking his earpiece out. "Mr Sulu, you have the conn."

"I... err..." Jim faltered as they stood in the turbolift. He cleared his throat nervously, bringing the sprig of mistletoe up in front of the Vulcan's face. "Do you know what this is?"

Spock frowned regarding the sprig for a moment. "That is _Viscum album_ , commonly known as mistletoe."

Jim smiled warmly, twirling the sprig between his thumb and forefinger. "There's a Terran tradition at Christmas that when two people stand underneath mistletoe, they are supposed to share a kiss." He leaned in a little closer, his heart beating out of his chest. "And I have a piece here, and I was thinking ... well ... since it's tradition and all..."

Jim slid a hand along Spock's neck, pulling him closer. His other hand fell to his side, his middle and fore fingers pressed against the Vulcan's. Spock shuddered with a sharp intake of breath. He felt a rush of emotion, pouring into him through Jim's touch. This wasn't just love. This was something else.

The captain pulled away tentatively, terrified to see the look on the Vulcan’s face. Spock was completely still, his eyes fixed on Jim’s.

“T’hy’la…”

The word was almost silent, trickling from Spock’s lips as though he hadn’t meant to say it.

Then, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, Spock close the gap between him and his Captain, slid his hand along Jim’s jaw and kissed him. It wasn’t hesitant or cautious. It was as though they had kissed a thousand times before. Jim melted into it. He had thought about this every time he looked at the Vulcan’s lips, he had imagined it short and sweet, lustful and needy, angry and passionate, but never like this. There was so much love, so much pure affection that it knocked the air from his lungs. The doors swished open and Jim could hear a muffled cry of " _Oh Jesus Christ!_ " before they closed again, leaving a disgruntled but relieved doctor wishing he could have taken the stairs.

Spock never heard a word. Jim's mind was singing to him. He could feel it thrumming through his blood and whispering his name.

_Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim._

The Vulcan pulled away.

"Don't get married!" Jim blurted out.

Spock felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "I have already spoken with my father. He understands that my circumstances have changed and that I am no longer unattached. He has given us his blessing."

Jim frowned. "You mean, you were going to do something about this as well?"

"Not quite in the manner that you have done, but yes. Given that you had already expressed your intentions towards me, albeit in a convoluted way, I felt that it was only logical that I take the opportunity to express mine."

The captain cocked a brow. "What _are_ your intentions?"

"Since we are already on course for New Vulcan, I intend to visit my father, to introduce you as my chosen life partner."

Jim gulped. "Life partner?"

Spock traced his forefinger over Jim's palm lazily. "At first I thought that it was just surface emotion, but you are my T'hy'la, my brother, my lover and my friend. In Terran venacular, you are my soulmate."

Jim rested his forehead against Spock's, a small laugh escape his lips. "Merry Christmas, Spock."

"Merry Christmas." the Vulcan replied softly. "Jim."


End file.
